“He does not know a shifter’s capabilities,” Tristan revealed. “Our healing, strength, speed, and extra-sensitive senses. He thinks we barely have the intelligence of a toad.” As he lifted the beer to his lips, Tristan added, “That is what I use to our advantage.”
Chapter Two
Detective Collin DeSoto flicked his gaze from his menu to the hot-as-hell new waiter at Goldy’s Burgers and Bites. The owner, Wren Cleaver, was an out-and-proud, big-as-hell gay man, and somehow managed to attract young gay waiters in droves, probably for the safe work environment. Collin, however, came for the fantastic food, not the eye-candy.
Yep, just keep telling yourself that, bub.
Collin mentally cringed as he once again refocused on the menu. Growing up as the fourth of five kids in a large Mexican-American household, there were certain expectations. He could never reveal his homosexual nature, always dating the occasional woman. Fortunately, as a detective, his days were long, his nights short, and his free time limited. That meant little to no time for dating.
When Collin needed to scratch his itch, he went several hours south to Albuquerque. There, he could just be Juarez—his middle name, which he used when tricking—and let down his hair a little. Collin managed to find some excuse to get down there a few times a year.
“What can I get you, Detective?”
Raising his head, Collin lifted his gaze to the cute waiter—Jimmy according to his name tag. Geez, was he even legal? Still, he couldn’t deny how the young man’s sweet smile lit up his face and made his blue eyes twinkle.
Head in the game, Collin. Lunch.
Maybe it’d been too long since he’d managed to head south. A wave of petty crime and vandalism had hit their normally quiet town and kept him hopping. Just last night, they’d caught a break and managed to spot a trio of hoodlums in the act. They’d caught one, but he wasn’t giving away the identities of his pals.
Give it time. I’ll break him.
Refocusing his thoughts, Collin curved one side of his mouth in a half-smile as he stated, “The Hungry Wren special,” he ordered. A barbeque pulled pork sandwich with melted queso cheese and sliced jalapeños sounded fantastic. “Uh, give me a house salad with honey mustard dressing instead of the fries.”
See, look at me get my veggies, Ma.
“Sure thing, Detective,” Jimmy replied. “Give me two shakes and I’ll be back to refill your coffee,” he added, grinning as he turned away.
Collin couldn’t help watching Jimmy’s ass as he turned and headed away.
Yep, I could definitely take two shakes out of that ass.
Shit! What is wrong with me?
Shaking his head at himself, Collin downed the last of his coffee. For the remainder of the meal, he made certain to focus only on the food.
Walking into the precinct, Collin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He discreetly glanced around. To the naked eye, everyone looked normal—busy, but normal—but he knew something was up.
Two of the town’s four officers sat at their desks, one was on the phone, and one was not. Collin knew the other two were out on patrol. Erin was at the reception desk, and he nodded quickly to her when she glanced his way, biting her lip before looking away again.
Huh.
“DeSoto. In my office.”
“Yes, Chief,” Collin responded. Veering left, he took a second to drape his coat over the desk chair. Then, he strode swiftly to Chief Greyson’s office. Stepping just inside the door, he ignored the pair of men seated in the chairs in front of the desk. He shoved his thumbs into his pockets and focused on his chief. “Yes, Chief?”
“Got a missing person’s case I need you to look into,” Chief Greyson told him. “Top of the list.”
Collin just kept from narrowing his eyes. He couldn’t help how his brows furrowed though as he asked, “What about the Rosette case? I planned to question Baker again this afternoon.”
Chief Greyson waved a hand and shook his head. “Kazinski can handle that. I need your unique skill-set for this one.”
Well, shit. So much for cracking Steve Baker. If the chief was referencing Collin’s seeming sixth sense, this must be important. He had a higher success rate of closing cases because sometimes he could get a little help.
Years before, a vampire had attacked Collin—well, not attacked so much as mauled for his blood. Vampires had some kind of trancing ability to make a human do what they wanted and forget about it later.
As it turned out, Collin was part of the approximately one percent of the population a vampire’s ability didn’t work on. When the guy had started giving him strange orders—like calmly walk into the alley with me and open your collar so I can enjoy your fantastic scent—he’d understandably did the opposite. The vampire hadn’t liked that.
A big man Collin knew as Sapian had heard the commotion and had come to his rescue, yanking the vampire off him. At six foot two, the light-brown haired man didn’t tower over both of them, but he sure had more brawn, with wide shoulders and a thick build. He’d placed himself between Collin and the stranger, his posture clearly hostile.
“Who are you?” Sapian had asked. “What’s your coven?”
The stranger had snarled, showing off fangs—fucking fangs! Then, the guy had turned and sprinted into the night faster than Collin’s gaze could follow.
“Son of a bitch,” Sapian had mumbled, turning back to Collin. When he’d lifted his hands and reached for him—much to his eternal shame—he’d flinched. Sapian had smiled reassuringly and softly stated, “Relax, Collin. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to see your neck. I want to make certain you’re not injured.”
“Sapian? Is everything okay?”
Collin had turned his head to find Sapian’s wife, Missy, standing at the opening to the alley. She’d stared worriedly at them, clutching her handbag tightly to her breasts.
“It’s fine, baby,” Sapian had replied. Holding out a hand, he had beckoned to her. “Come here, Missy.” She had come and Sapian had kept talking, returning his focus to Collin. “A rogue vampire. I don’t smell blood, but I’d like to double check.”
Missy had gasped, then turned to Collin, whispering platitudes. After that, Collin had submitted to their handling. He wasn’t too proud to say that he’d kind of spaced out a bit.
Hell, vampire? Who’d expect that?
Sapian had taken him to his home at Falias Estates, where Collin had learned that he wasn’t actually human. He was a gargoyle, with wings and claws and a tail and—fuck—the things that went bump in the night were real.
Now, while Collin still sort of feared the clutch of gargoyles, he valued them as well. Evidently, this area, because of its partial seclusion, was a hotspot for paranormals. If something odd was going on in town, he could ask them if it was somehow related to something not human, and together they came up with creative ways to close tricky cases.
It made Collin look like a fucking genius to his peers, because the gargoyles wanted secrecy, so he received all the credit. It wasn’t as if he could ever tell anyone the truth.
More than once, Collin had thought about how so many things in his life were a lie. His prowess at his job. His sexual orientation. Even his hobbies. He hated woodworking and loved cooking, not that he’d ever tell his father, Antonio. Collin still helped out with Antonio’s furniture business now and again. And cooking? Forget it. He could hear his father’s voice now...that’s woman’s work.
Chief Greyson’s deep voice cut into Collin’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present. “Is that understood?”
Hell if Collin actually knew what his chief had said, but he nodded once anyway and replied, “Yes, sir. Do you need me to tell Kazinski?”
“No, I’ll take care of it,” Chief Greyson replied. “Use my office to speak with Misses Sandra Wallice and her...associate, Canaan Bell.”
For the first time, Collin truly looked at the two people sitting in his chief’s office. His stomach tightened and his
senses went on alert. Something about Canaan had Collin’s blood turning to ice in his veins. Maybe it was the guy’s cold dark eyes. Collin didn’t trust him.
Collin yanked his gaze away from the rail-thin man and peered at Sandra. Her face appeared pale and drawn, her lips pinched, lines were around her dull blue eyes. Even her blonde hair seemed faded. She screamed fear and tension.
Taking all that in at a glance, Collin carefully blanked his expression, keeping his observations to himself. He stepped forward and held out his hand to the woman first.
“I’m Detective Collin DeSoto,” he greeted, introducing himself.
“Sandra Wallice,” she practically whispered, taking his hand.
After a quick, gentle squeeze, Collin moved on to the man, offering his hand. After getting a too firm shake from the man that Collin knew was Canaan’s way of showing he was the bigger man—and which Collin instantly dismissed—Collin released him. He pulled a small notepad and a pen from his pocket, and turned his attention back to Sandra.
“I understand you’re looking for Bud Wallice. Is that your brother? Husband? Son?”
Sandra opened her mouth to respond, but Canaan spoke first. “Bud Wallice is Sandra’s husband.”
Collin flicked his gaze to Canaan. He forced a smile. “And when was the last time you heard from him?”
“Four days ago,” Canaan answered. “I spoke with him on the phone.”
“And Bud said he was here?” Collin pressed.
Canaan frowned but nodded.
“Do you know what he was doing in Durango?”
That question was met with a stony glare from Canaan. “What the hell does that matter?”
Interesting reaction. These guys are hiding something.
Collin held up his pen-filled hand and replied, “The best way to find out what might have happened to him is to retrace his steps. Please, help me do my job.”
“Bud was here on business,” Sandra spoke up softly. “We live in Idaho. He owns a sideshow attraction business for tourists.”
Canaan glared at her. “It’s a curiosity show,” he corrected coldly. “People come to see things they wouldn’t normally get the opportunity to see.”
Collin nodded. “Okay. And he was here on business,” he pushed, trying to get them back on track. “Who was he meeting? Where was he going?”
Frowning, Canaan replied coolly, “We had a theft of several valuable attractions at the same time we sold a boa constrictor. We had a private investigator look into the purchaser and the trail led here.”
Oh, fuck a duck! A boa?
Collin knew that the gargoyle clutch had used a ruse of buying a boa constrictor—one who was actually a shifter—to rescue a couple of other shifters. He’d heard about it when the Idaho police had come down and checked out Einan, since his name had been on the moving truck rental. Collin had escorted them to the estate and helped clear the gargoyles.
“I remember this,” Collin decided to reveal. “If memory serves, Einan was cleared. I even saw the boa constrictor.” Thinking quickly, he added, “If the private investigator found new evidence, I need to see it. What’s his name and number?”
Canaan pulled out his wallet from inside his suit pocket. “I’ll give you his card, but it won’t do any good.”
“Oh? You don’t think he’ll talk to me?”
“No,” Canaan replied, handing him a card. “He’s missing, too.”
Collin mentally patted himself on the back for keeping a straight face. His heart rate had picked up. Somehow, he knew this man was partly responsible for holding shifters. Now, Collin was being dragged right into the middle of it.
Guess it’s time to pay the gargoyles another visit.
After finishing the interview, Collin assured Mrs. Wallice that he’d keep her in the loop. He nodded to Canaan, shaking the guy’s hand again and once more getting the strong arm tactic. Then, he saw them out of the station.
Collin spent the next three hours on the phone. He called the hotel Bud was supposed to have stayed at, but discovered the dates were different. He called the rental car company and confirmed that the car Bud had rented had indeed been returned. He scheduled an appointment to review surveillance video, but again, the dates were off.
Either they were lying about the last time they’d spoken with Bud, or Bud had been gone about a week longer than the four days they’d told him. Collin just didn’t know which one or why.
Rising from his desk, Collin stretched his arms over his head, popped his back, then rubbed the back of his neck. Hours on the phone were always a killer on his spine. He could hear his mother yelling about his posture with each twinge of his spine.
Oh well, time for a drive. The comfortable, heated bucket seat of his Dodge Dakota would help ease some of the knots. God bless whoever invented heated seats.
Collin pulled on his jacket, grateful that spring was right around the corner. He’d grown tired of the heavy coat he needed to wear to keep from freezing his ass at a crime scene. He always felt uncoordinated and clunky in the thick fabric.
While growing up, it had become painfully obvious by high school that no amount of throwing around the ball in the back yard would turn him into a jock like his brother, Rocio. Fortunately, years of weight lifting, running, and martial arts had given him the strength, balance, and stamina needed to get through the police academy. He’d even been second in his class.
Pushing aside the ridiculous memories, Collin headed out of the precinct. He reached his truck and climbed into the cab. After starting it up and activating the heat, he tapped on the steering wheel and thought about his options.
Just because Collin knew that paranormals existed and had a decent working relationship with Maelgwn and his clutch didn’t mean he enjoyed going to their estate. They made him nervous. They were huge and more than a little intimidating. Especially considering many of them were over six and a half feet tall, sometimes even seven, while Collin barely topped that elusive six foot mark.
Collin shook his head and sighed. Better just to get it over with. Putting his truck in drive, he headed north out of town.
After a twenty minute drive, half of that time spent driving alongside the estate’s property to reach the driveway, Collin turned into the long driveway leading to the massive home. The place never ceased to amaze him. It sported a wide veranda complete with columns in front, several second story balconies, and there was even a tower and parapet.
In the light of the setting sun, he spotted a number of stone gargoyle statues tucked in various places around the roof. He knew from experience that when the sun set, those statues would come to life. He’d seen it happen once...and while he’d been told it happened, it hadn’t stopped his pulse from spiking and fear from snaking through his veins.
It’d been the freakiest thing he’d ever seen and wasn’t interested in seeing it again.
With that thought in mind, Collin quickly pushed out of his truck. He strode briskly to the front door and used the door knocker. Taking a fortifying breath, he prepared to question the gargoyles.
Chapter Three
Tristan smelled them before he saw them.
Dozing in animal form on a warm patch of muddy bank, Tristan sunned comfortably. He felt the breeze slightly cool his hide. Along with that, smells.
He easily recognized Maelgwn and Tobias’ scents, but the third...hmm. That one was new, unfamiliar, and intriguing. Clearly masculine, it reminded him of freshly baked earth, like the cracked bank of a river during the dry season.
Nice.
With a push of his clawed feet, Tristan propelled himself into the water. He swished his tail and with a change to the angle of his head, he dove under the surface and swam toward the dock.
Tristan surfaced twenty feet from the wooden structure. Gliding through the water, he scented the air. Unable to detect the scent, he moved closer to shore. He used his tail and feet, maneuvering through the tall grass and reeds.
There.
Catchi
ng the scent again, Tristan paused and inhaled. He felt his blood heat as desire and lust surged through him. Pausing, he took a few minutes just to enjoy the unfamiliar sensation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone, let alone had a reaction like this.
Maybe never.
Tristan recognized the low rumbling of people talking. The noises grew louder, changing, separating into individual voices. Maelgwn’s voice was a deep rumble as he said they’d need to speak with Tristan.
A melodious, deep tenor answered, his accent slight. “And Tristan is out at the pond fishing?”
Tobias snorted. “Not exactly, Detective,” he replied. “Tristan is one of the shifters we rescued. One of the animals we supposedly stole.”
Detective? Well, well. A shame Tristan had to be right. He felt fairly sure that this had to be about Bud Wallice.
As the group reached the dock, the detective answered, “I never did ask, uh, how many animals did you take? I know you bought the snake, but—”
“Caladon,” Maelgwn corrected.
“What?”
“The boa constrictor shifter. His name is Caladon,” Maelgwn told him. “We rescued two other shifters. Roland is an Iberian lynx shifter, and he is Tobias’ mate.”
“Right, uh, sorry,” the detective replied. “And the other one? The one who must like water so much? A hippo or something?”
Tobias chuckled roughly. “Not exactly.”
By that time, Tristan had swam close enough to see the trio on the dock. He peered through the reeds and let out a low appreciative hiss at the sight.
The detective appeared dwarfed by the large gargoyles in human form, but if Tristan had to guess, he stood around six foot or so. Hands pushed into jacket pockets, he peered out at the large pond, his gaze sweeping the area. His dark hair was ruffled, as if he’d threaded his fingers through it more than once. He had wide shoulders, perfectly proportioned for his tapered waist and the muscular thighs showcased in worn jeans.
Paranormal's Love 11 - Hot-Blooded Alligator Page 2
